


exit wounds

by almostannette



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Credence joined the circus, First Meetings, M/M, Original Graves was imprisoned by Grindelwald, and now goes looking for Credence, mentions of torture, set between movie 1 and movie 2, this is how they meet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/pseuds/almostannette
Summary: When Newt Scamander doesn’t agree to hunt down Credence Barebone, the Obscurial, the Ministry of Magic gives the job to Grimmson, a man with questionable loyalty and a bad reputation.There’s just one thing Grimmson doesn’t know. Percival Graves, MACUSA’s former Director of Magical Security, is also looking for the Obscurial and manages to find Credence before him.This is the story of how Credence Barebone meets the real Percival Graves for the first time.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, Credence Barebone/Percival Graves | Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	exit wounds

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this fic when Crimes of Grindelwald first came out, forgot all about it and only rediscovered it a few days ago when I was going through my google drive. Hope you'll like it! :)

**Wizarding Paris, 1927**

Skender had been in the business for over thirty years. He’d worked his way up from being a simple stableboy, and had learned how to run a profitable business. Of course, profitable didn’t always mean legal. He had to be on his guard. Couldn’t have people sniffing around, asking questions about how exactly he’d contracted some of his more valuable “performers”.

So, when he was approached by a wizard who looked like he’d curse you first and ask questions later, Skender did the sensible thing and cooperated.

“You’re the wizard who runs this establishment,” the newcomer said in an American accent. He was wearing the clothes of a rich man, but his cheeks were sunken like he’d gone hungry for months on end and there was a hollow expression in his eyes that made Skender feel uneasy if he looked at it for too long.

“What do you want?”

The American raised one of his strong eyebrows, almost in surprise. “I’ve come to inquire about one of your employees,” he said. “I was wondering if you could arrange a meeting--”

“The Maledictus is not for sale,” Skender cut him off. “And I’m not renting her out either, no matter what you might have heard.”

The man’s lips curled into a small smile. “I can assure you, I have no interest in the girl,” he said. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Skender. “I’m looking for him.”

It was a newspaper clipping, showing the grainy photograph of a young man. Haunted eyes, horrid haircut, terrible posture. It was the boy who’d asked him for a job back in London, looking like he’d been roughing it for a while. He was an odd young man, jumpy and nervous, but he responded well to commands, so Skender kept him on.

“Why are you looking for the kid?” Skender asked. “What did he do?”

“He ran away,” the American said. “He’s my son and I’ve come to bring him home.”

Skender looked from the exquisitely dressed man to the photograph of the pale, waifish boy in rags and back again. “Bullshit,” he said. “You’re lying and not very well. I’m not going to tell you anything unless you make it worth my while.”

He’d barely finished speaking when the man had pulled out a bag from his pocket. He opened it and showed the content to Skender - perfectly shining golden galleons. “I trust that this is enough?”

Skender eyed the gold and felt a smile spread on his features. “I’ll fetch your son for you right away,” he said. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr…?”

“Graves,” the man said. “Percival Graves.”

* * *

“Hey, boy,” Skender said, grabbing Credence by the arm. “When you came to me looking for a job, you said you had no family.”

The boy hunched over and looked at Skender with uncertain eyes. “It’s the truth. I don’t have a family,” he said, with that whiny, desperate edge to his voice that sounded like nails scraping on a chalkboard to Skender.

As though that boy was the only one who’d had a difficult life. Skender had no sympathy for someone who’d rather wallow in self-pity than work to turn his life around. In his opinion, suffering made you tough. It gave you an edge over your competitors and made you stronger. This boy, however? He looked like a strong gust of wind was enough to blow him over.

Tall and willowy as he was, he was rather easy on the eyes, though. Pretty even, if you were into that.

Skender smirked. Perhaps that was why Mr. Graves had been looking for the boy in the first place. ‘Father, my arse,’ he thought to himself.

“Well, if you don’t have a family, then why is there someone here to see you? He says he’s related to you.” Skender said and watched the boy’s eyes go wide, shining with excitement for just a moment.

“Really?” he asked, too eagerly, before he remembered to get a grip on his emotions.

“He really wants to see you,” Skender said, patting the bag of galleons in his pocket. Yes, he would be able to buy quite a few more attractions for this amount of money. Paris had a large black market when it came to exotic creatures and curiosities - he would add at least a few of them to his circus.

The boy’s face was an open book - torn between the need to connect to someone, bewildered that someone was here to see him of all people, but also cautious. Skender was no fool, he’d seen the scars covering the boy’s arms and had drawn his conclusions. Just like a mistreated animal, the boy would not trust anyone easily after the life he must have led.

Well, it wasn’t Skender’s problem.

* * *

Credence’s heart was beating fast; it was hard to breathe. A relative had come to see him? Could it be true?

If he’d been able to talk to his friend, then she would have scolded him for believing Skender so easily. “He’s just telling you what he thinks you want to hear to get you to do what he wants,” she’d say. “It’s how he ensnared me.”

But he didn’t have the time to talk to her and he was too excited to find out who he was, where he belonged. He’d hoped he’d find answers in Paris and now it seemed like he might truly be able to get them.

When he’d sorted through his adoptive mother’s papers, he’d found the adoption certificate. A French woman’s name was on the certificate, and he’d entertained wild, desperate fantasies about finally finding out who his mother was. What was his real name? Why had his family chosen to give him away? Had they known about his powers?

Why had he not been wanted? What had been wrong with him?

Couldn’t they have sensed that Mary Lou had been a fanatic, that they had condemned him to a life of suffering, abuse, and repression?

He should have gone to a wizarding school, maybe then his magic would not have festered into this twisted, chaotic mess. He hadn’t had any chance to do research and was too afraid to ask around, for fear of being discovered. Skender had already kept giving him strange looks and Mr. Graves… Mr. Graves had never bothered to explain what he was looking for in the child. If he had, maybe Credence would have recognized the signs earlier.

He shook his head. No, he thought. He was not going to think about Mr. Graves anymore. He’d trusted him and had gotten his heart broken. So what? If Nagini was to be believed, it happened all the time.

Given enough time, he’d get over it.

No matter how often he repeated that mantra to himself, it didn’t change the fact that nobody had ever set his heart aflutter quite like Mr. Graves. Credence had never wanted anyone or anything as much as he’d wanted Mr. Graves’ approval, or maybe see the desire and wonder Credence felt when he looked at Mr. Graves reflected in the older man’s beautiful dark eyes.

* * *

Graves waited in the room Skender had told him to. He’d already cast the strongest shield charm he knew - the Obscurial was extremely dangerous, that’s what Grimmson had told him once Graves had immobilized him and forced a teaspoon of Veritaserum down his throat. For good measure, Graves had obliviated him later on until Grimmson didn’t even remember that he’d ever worked for the Ministry of Magic.

Graves wasn’t going to take any chances.

He was prepared for anything.

Or so he’d thought.

When the Obscurial entered the room, Graves was first struck by the boy’s height. If he stood up straight, he’d be taller than Graves himself. Somehow, he’d always had the impression that Credence Barebone would be fragile, small, almost coming apart at the seams, his body barely able to contain the magical power that rested within him.

He was hunched over, of course, and wore a set of clothes that was possibly even worse than the ill-fitting suit he’d worn in all of the photographs Graves had seen of him. He must have gotten rid of the horrid bowl cut at some point in the last months, too - not that Graves could blame him.

When the Obscurial spotted him, the boy’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open for a second before the boy remembered to close it. “You,” he whispered, “You came back.”

“Credence,” Graves said, trying to think of how he could explain the situation. “I’m so glad that I’ve found you.”

Credence frowned and furrowed his brows. Suddenly, he stood up straight and looked Graves right in the eye. “What are you doing here, Mr. Graves?” he asked, his voice sounding pressed and controlled.

The Obscurial was taking deep breaths, probably to calm himself, but he was also looking at Graves with an arrogance and a sense of superiority that almost rivaled Grindelwald. This was the boy who’d destroyed a large part of New York City, Graves remembered, and if Grimmson’s information was correct, then he’d since learned how to control the deadly force that resided within him.

‘He could tear me apart if he wanted to,’ Graves thought. ‘And he knows it.’

“I was looking for you,” Graves said. “I want to help you.”

The boy’s mouth twitched, Graves wasn’t sure if he was fighting a smile or a frown. “So you either think you’re very clever or that I’m very stupid,” the Obscurial said. “Or both.”

Graves furrowed his brows. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“You know how it goes,” Credence replied. “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, too. You didn’t think I was going to believe anything you said ever again, didn’t you?”

“You got it wrong,” Graves said, shaking his head. “The man who made those promises to you, the man who was using you… that wasn’t me. He used me, too.”

Credence swallowed and Graves thought that his eyes flickered from dark brown to milky white for just a second. He needed to be careful, now.

“Have you heard of Gellert Grindelwald?”

Credence nodded.

“Do you know anything about his political goals? His agenda?”

“He wants to abolish the International Statue of Secrecy,” Credence said. “Witches and wizards wouldn’t have to hide anymore. We’d be free.”

It pained him to admit, but Credence was parroting the views of the stereotypical Grindelwald follower already, not bothering to think about the wider implications of the Austrian wizard’s rhetoric.

“Credence,” he sighed. “Have you ever thought about the price we’d all have to pay for such a fundamental change? And I’m not only talking about witches and wizards, oh no, I mean the No-Majs, too.”

Credence held up his palms for Graves to see. The flesh was crisscrossed with scars, evidence of violent beatings. “I’ve already paid a price,” Credence said. “I’ve paid it in blood.”

“You’ve been hurt, I know,” Graves said, trying to make his voice sound as soothing as possible. “Mistakes were made in your case, I’m not trying to deny it. But Grindelwald also hurts people in trying to achieve his political goals. People don’t matter to him,” he continued. “He only cares about them as long as they’re useful, then he discards them. Grindelwald imprisoned me for months on end, and he used my face to gain your trust.”

Graves cuffed his shirt sleeves, showing off the scars cursed shackles had left on his wrists. They hadn’t yet been able to find a spell or a potion to erase them. “I’ve suffered, too.”

Credence’s bottom lip was quivering and he couldn’t look at the scars on Graves’ wrists for longer than a few seconds. “So you know what it’s like to be in pain, Mr. Graves. You know what it’s like to be tortured - and now you want to tell me I need to embrace the status quo? Wizarding governments would rather see me dead than help me. You can go back to your government job and your nice apartment, no problem, but for me? Grindelwald is the only option for me. He’s the only one who’s going to help me. Not MACUSA, not the Ministry of Magic. Grindelwald.”

“It pains me to know that you think that way,” Graves said. “But there’s one thing you should know: I no longer work for MACUSA. After Grindelwald assumed my identity and imprisoned me, I’m no longer considered to be trustworthy. What I want to say… I don’t want you to believe Grindelwald’s propaganda. He doesn’t want to create a more equal society - he just wants to create a society with him as the ruler. He’d just use you and discard you as soon as he’s achieved his goal. He’s done so before, hasn’t he?”

Credence worried his teeth over his bottom lip.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Graves pressed on. “He’s hurt you before when he thought you were no longer useful to him. Believe me, he’ll do so again.”

“Mr. Graves,” Credence whispered. “What could you offer me that Grindelwald can’t?”

Graves looked down at his scarred wrists and thought back to the months he’d spent in a prison cell with Gellert Grindelwald as his merciless jailer. “I can offer you freedom,” Graves said. “I can offer you mutual respect and friendship, the kind that doesn’t come with any strings attached. A chance to start over, a new life, if you’ll let me help you.” 

Credence took a deep breath. “You’ll have exactly one chance. If you hurt me as… as he did, I’ll be gone before you even know it.”

“That sounds fair,” Graves said, studying Credence’s face. “So, deal?” he added, holding out his hand to Credence.

Credence met his eyes for a split second before and Graves was struck by the intensity in the young man’s dark brown eyes. “One chance,” Credence repeated and his lips curled into a thin smile. He took Graves’ hand and shook it. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the fic, please consider telling me so by commenting and/or leaving kudos! <3


End file.
